


Into the breach, and out the other side

by thejademare



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, Feelstide 2013, M/M, here have some unrepentant fluff at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:52:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejademare/pseuds/thejademare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, no matter where in the world they are, Christmas always sneaks up on them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the breach, and out the other side

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 103 for feelstide 2013:
> 
> Either Clint or Phil are injured (burned hands or broken ankle w/e) and require assistance during Christmas celebrations

Somehow, no matter where in the world they are, Christmas always sneaks up on them. Burma, Myanmar, and China, they’d been sent out on ops late in the month, and woken up on Christmas day, somehow none the wiser as to where and when and how it had happened. (Alright, maybe they all knew a little, and maybe they all had their reasons for not being state side.) 

True to form, it’s December twenty fourth, and here they are, on an op. This time it’s in Canada though, and damn, is it bitterly cold. It’s not like they’ed going to miss anything, the op is set to wrap up in two day’s time, and right now, everything is going to plan. Clint is crouched on a roof, squinting through the snow that’s been falling for the past three hours. He figures if he stays still any longer, he’s gonna either become one with the snow, or freeze into a hawk-cicle, and Phil will have to defrost him like they did with Cap. 

Finally, three hours later, when he’s just about out of patience and hand warmers, his target steps into sight across the gap of the road. Perfect. He gets his bow up, slowly, slowly, the arrow he’s kept knocked freezing to his touch. His fingers ache with cold already, but R and D have yet to make gloves that are thin enough, and warm enough, for situations like this. Something they should really work on. He makes a mental note to whine about it till shit gets done, drawing back to full, aiming carefully. He’s got one shot at this, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. 

Breath. Pull back. Aim. Breath out. Release. 

And the arrow is off, surging off through the growing gloom, breaking through the glass, punching into the target’s head. 

And he’s down. 

“Callin it in, Sir. Target down, send in the cleaners.” 

“Confirmed, Hawkeye. Widow is near by, but we’ve got hostiles near your position. I recommend using the northern route if you can.” Phil looks over his monitors, Clint’s signal bright blue, three orange dots moving toward it. “They’re coming from below. Get out of there.” 

“On it, Overwatch.” He nods to himself, grabbing a grappling arrow, shooting it into the building behind him, taking a running leap off the roof, sailing through the air, crashing against the side. Well, he won’t be getting points for style or grace, but he’s down. And falling fast. The rope stops ten feet above the ground, and he jerks to a halt, his hands stinging. Giving the rope a twist, the arrow disengages from the side of the building, and he drops the last ten feet, landing easily. The good? No one is out on the streets to stare. The bad? It makes him all the more noticeable. 

Pulling his hood up, he makes it twenty feet before his hair stands on end, and he hears the tell-tale crunch of snow under boots that means he’s being followed. He turns the next corner, breaks into a sprint, and skids down an ally, climbing up a fire escape, moving as silently as he can. No dice. “Overwatch, I’m made, Directions?”  
“Safe house is twenty blocks from your current location. Any injuries?” Phil asks, pulling out his gun, nodding at Jasper, who’s sitting at the driver’s seat. He throws the car into drive, and they’re off, heading toward Clint’s location. 

“M’safe--” Gun shots roar through the air, and fire lances through his left thigh, below his hip. His leg crumpled below him and he keens, low and quite for a heartbeat, before pulling himself up, stealing himself against feeling, and fireing back, three targets pinned to the ground in a matter of moments. “M’hit.” He rasps, fire burning through his leg. He’s been shot before, but ever damn time, it always feels like someone’s stuffed a burning iron poker into his leg, and wiggled it. Hard. 

“Where?” The worry in Phil’s voice for his husband is clear, and it makes Jasper drive faster, eyebrows knitting together for a moment. They pull up, and Clint’s two stories up, a field bandage around his leg already, his face white from pain. 

“Agent Barton, do you require assistance?” Phil hates how formal he has to be, but everything is recorded, their ear comms picking up everything. He’s got to be professional and polished in the field. The moment they clock off, which is going to be soon, so so soon, but it’s never quick enough for Phil’s liking, he can hold Clint in his arms, and call him love, darling, all manor of stupid pet names that will make Clint blush red, Natasha smirk, and Jasper tease the both of them mercilessly. 

“M’good.” He shook his head, limping down one step at a time, picking his way down. Ten minutes later, he was on solid ground again, leaning exhaustedly in Phil’s arms, as he limped slowly back to the van, shivering. 

“Widow. What’s your location? We’re coming to you.” Phil frowned, making sure Clint was warm enough, and the patch job he’d done would hold for now. 

“Five minutes from you boys, Stay there, I’ll come to you. We’re leaving now, aren’t we?” 

“That’s correct, Widow.” 

“Oh good, I was getting bored of this place anyway.” 

They get back to the jet with no problems, and two hours later, are back at base, Clint in surgery to get whatever remained of the bullet out. 

 

When he wakes up, it’s dark outside, and Phil is sitting in the chair next to his bed, humming softly under his breath, holding his hand, looking out the window, snow flowing slowly outside. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” Phil smiles, turning to look down at Clint. “Merry Christmas, babe.” 

“Merry Christmas, Phil.”


End file.
